


Soft like diamonds, hard as silk

by caprigender



Series: Emilio Stroud-Fontana, purple-haired punching physician of vault 101 [3]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character, other characters play a tertiary role, trans lone wanderer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: Gob falls in love with the Lone Wanderer but the wasteland doesn't take kindly to kindness and a good mercenary doesn't necessarily make a good partner.





	Soft like diamonds, hard as silk

If you had asked Gob to describe the kid in one word when he had first stumbled through the door of Moriarty’s saloon he would have picked “soft.” Soft rolls of soft skin were piled under a leather jacket softened by years of wear. His head was topped with soft curls of soft pastel-purple wrapped up in a soft, scared demeanor staring up at him with soft brown eyes wider than dinner plates in wonder and surprise. He’d softly stepped up to the counter and smiled sweetly when he settled down on the seat, seemingly trying to take up as little space as possible. 

Gob hadn’t been entirely sure what to think. He hadn’t really bothered to until the kid started talking to him. There was always something to be done around the bar and when there wasn’t he had to at least look busy. He didn’t have the time to be wasting on wondering who this stranger was or how oddly clean he seemed until the boy had drawn his attention with a clatter of caps and an unusually friendly greeting.

He’d never seen a ghoul before. That wasn’t surprising. He must have come from the vault nearby, the one with the “born in a vault, die in a vault” philosophy and they didn't exactly have room for ghouls in their world. What was surprising was his lack of disgust in favor of burning curiosity.

He’d asked about the town, about the bomb, the radio, the menu. He asked about Gob’s life and he seemed legitimately interested in hearing the ghoul’s answers. He asked about ghouls, asked if Gob was in pain, asked about Carol and the Underworld and how to get there from Megaton. Gob felt his defenses soften in response, the cold hard shell of apathy that protected him from the insults of his employer melted for a moment. He gave the kid a discount, a “thank you” for being soft. It wasn’t a character trait the wasteland liked to reward, but it was important. Gob thought it was important.

The kid had smiled, a big toothy grin framed by soft lips and softer cheeks, and thanked him. Gob felt his heart skip a beat. It was kind of sad that such a small amount of kindness could send him reeling like that, equal parts tragic and pathetic he thought. In the back of his mind there was the nagging fear that usually popped up whenever he was feeling a bit too happy. It was a small reminder that any positive emotions could be crushed in an instant and he shouldn't get used to feeling nice. Still, he smiled back and let himself enjoy the friendly conversation. 

Then the kid asked about his dad and Gob realized he might have gone a bit too far. That kind of information was worth a lot of caps. Moriarty said information was power and he definitely always prefered Gob to be powerless. Gob backtracked, apologized, said he’d said too much. He went back to cleaning filthy glasses with filthy rags, went back to looking busy in a way that had nothing to do with customers.

The glare on the kid’s face was much closer to what Gob was used to dealing with. The grumbled “yeah well thanks for nothing” was more tame than what Jericho might have gone with, but at least the natural order of things had been restored. Gob shrugged, firmly secure in his decision not to risk getting beaten for a soft squishy punk who wouldn’t be able to reach GNR headquarters alive, even if he did know that’s where his father had gone.

When he left the saloon Gob figured that was the last he’d ever see of the kid. Soft didn’t survive long out in the wasteland.

[...]

Gob had been soft once. Back before the bombs when he’d been human he’d been soft, back before the radiation and food scarcities. What skin he had left was rough and dry, some twisted into ridges by the burns. Layers of fat had withered in the heat of the radiation or been used up as he struggled to keep his body functioning on the small bits of nourishment he could afford.

Emotionally there were some people who would say Gob was still soft. His softness wasn’t something he’d considered when he’d left Underworld. He’d known of it. He’d known he wasn’t the cold hearted killer many said you had to be to survive out in the wasteland. He’d gone anyways because he’d been naive and optimistic. He’d heard of adventure on the radio and he’d burned with curiosity. He’d wanted to know what it was like Out There. He’d had to see it for himself.

He’d seen for himself unending hardship and cruelty.

It was surprising to him how easily the softness had been shattered. He’d thought that after the bombs he’d seen everything there was to see of suffering. In the chaos of his city destroyed he’d seen so much death and pain. In the years after that he’d seen people he loved slowly turning into monsters, painfully sloughing off skin, exposing bones and sinew. After decades this horror had somehow managed to become normal. Life continued. The ghouls of Underworld had settled down and developed their status quo. It wasn’t a perfect place but the community had been forged through the worst and had forgotten so much of that trauma. He had forgotten how it had been. Forgetting was probably the only way they’d managed to survive it but still, he’d taken the ties of community for granted.

He hadn’t been alone in the slave camp, but he might as well have been, and in the face of their cruelty and his overwhelming loneliness it had been so easy for his soft edges to be chipped and broken into jagged, defensive bitterness. At least that kept him relatively safe.

[...]

“Hey gorgeous, long time no see.” A familiar voice cooed as its owner scooted up to the bar counter and dropped a handful of caps on the table. “You still got that discount going for me? Cause I’ve got some shit I’m looking to forget”

Gob flinched as he turned to see the kid from a week ago, more than a little bit worse for wear. His purple hair was an uncombed mess hanging in front of bloodshot eyes. The dark circles might have been from lack of sleep, but they might have also been slowly healing bruises. 

 

There was a thin film of grime and dirt coating the kid’s skin and clothes, dulling the vibrant blue of the jumpsuit under his jacket. He reminded Gob of a teddy bear he’d once seen in the rubble of the wasteland, fur faded and patchy, buttons loose, threatening to come apart at the seams. “Geez, kid, you alright?”

“Emi,” the kid said with a lopsided grin that somehow still had all its teeth intact. “You can call me Emi. I like to think that we’re friends.” The grin dropped off his face. “I haven’t slept in days, Gob. That’s not something you’re supposed to do. Getting at least eight hours of sleep each night is very important for cognitive function”

Gob nodded, “That so?” He usually got five or maybe six hours a night. He’d probably gotten more back in Underworld, but that had been a long time ago. He couldn’t remember.

“Yep, lack of sleep totals your brain. Slows reaction time, impairs judgement, you can start hallucinating, stress hormones skyrocket, immune system crashes...” he trailed off and shook his head, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I just had a week long vacation to deal with some… interesting people up north and I want whiskey.” He hesitated a moment and then, as an afterthought added, “please.” Emilio swayed in his seat and leaned heavily against the counter. Gob didn’t think he should be serving the kid drinks, but Moriarty didn’t pay him to think. He plucked a bottle of whiskey off a shelf and slid it across the table, scooping up the caps in the same motion.

The vaultie kid grinned at him again, a manic and exhausted expression as he reached for the bottle. Gob felt a pang of conscience. “Hey, drunkie, I’m not here to judge but maybe you should get some rest before deciding to drink yourself to death.” He reached over to lay his hand on top of the bottle and his fingertips brushed against the back of Emi’s hand. Emi jumped, pulling back and knocking the bottle over. He scrambled to catch the glass as it fell and rolled towards the edge of the counter. Gob froze, stuck between the impulse to try and catch tumbling merchandise and the feeling of Emilio recoiling from the accidental touch. In the time it took for him to react, Emi had already set the bottle back upright on the table and was avoiding eye contact.

Why did that reaction hurt so much every time? That impulse to pull away as if Gob’s rough and patchy skin would burn or infect. He was used to it by now, right? It had been over fifteen years since he’d shown up in Megaton, after all. He told himself it could be worse. Emilio wasn’t the type to attack him for the… mistake. He wasn’t so lucky with the other customers.

“Sorry,” Emi muttered. His face was red and his eyes focused on the floor of the bar. “Almost broke it, that could have been bad.” 

Gob shrugged but the motion was stiff and forced. “Could have, but you didn’t.” Did it make it better or worse that the kid had been so sweet and friendly at first? He couldn’t decide. “Long as I don’t have to clean anything up.” He sighed. Maybe it had just been a reflex to being touched in general? The wastes were enough to make anyone a little jumpy and personal space was a necessity. Gob looked at the kid again, twitchy and avoiding eye contact. Yeah, that made sense. “Emilio,” the kid’s eyes shot up from the floor and fixed on Gob’s face. It surprised him and he hesitated, trying to remember what he was going to say. “You should get some rest. You know you can rent a room here from Nova, right?” Emi nodded, his gaze moving back down to the table.

“It’s cheaper to just find an abandoned mattress out there somewhere,” Emi shrugged. Gob felt his heart stop in his chest for a moment as he imagined the boy curled up on a dirty mattress in the middle of the wasteland. In his mind the dark spaces around him were filled with unseen dangers, hungry mole rats, giant ants, feral ghouls, slavers, raiders, deathclaws all just waiting to tear Emilio to shreds. He wanted to lean over and shake the kid.

“Yeah it’s cheaper, and it’s also how you get yourself picked up by slavers,” he snapped. Emilio flinched, looking a little sheepish. “Do you have enough caps for it?” Emilio nodded again. “Then just, do me this favor. Rent the room and get a full night of sleep, alright?”

For a long while Emilio didn’t say anything and Gob wondered if the kid was just going to ignore him until he dropped the subject. Fine. If that was the way he was going to be Gob would just have to wash his hands of the whole situation. Again. This was way above and beyond his responsibility as a bartender. 

“Alright, I’ll rent the room,” Emi agreed. “I’m gonna have some whisky first, but I’ll rent the room tonight.” Gob sighed. That was probably the best he was going to get in this situation. It was worlds better than lying awake that night worrying he’d sent the kid off to his death a second time. “Thanks, I guess. For caring about me.”

Gob shrugged, retrieving a chipped cup from under the counter for the kid’s whiskey. “Don’t mention it, drunkie.”

[...]

Gob had fantasies about running away sometimes.

In his mind he would sneak into Moriarty’s room while the man was sleeping and lift the key to the safe. With a small handgun, a pack of food, and all the bottlecaps he could carry he would leave town in the dead of night. The giant metal gates of Megaton would creak shut behind him and he would never look back, forward momentum, no regrets.

Sometimes in his fantasies he would make his way back to Underworld. Sometimes he would just keep wandering, helping people and adventuring across the wasteland like he had planned to when he first set out all those years ago. Sometimes he would travel to Galaxy News Radio and stop in to help ThreeDog with his radio show.

Yeah, as if that was a plan that stood a snowball’s chance in hell; just walk right up to GNR with its hordes of Brotherhood soldiers and their itchy trigger fingers. Surely they wouldn’t take one look at a lonely approaching ghoul and just blow his brains away. Of course if he was being realistic then how could he even imagine getting that far? Between the raiders and the dust storms and the mutated animals how long did he think he could actually last out there? How long had it been the first time? He sighed and shook his head. Didn’t have to be realistic. It was just a fantasy, just a daydream, just something to pass the time.

Still, being brought back to reality always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

[...]

“Carol says hi” 

Gob froze in the middle of wiping down the countertop. “You made it to Underworld?” Emilio nodded. “Past the supermutants?” He nodded again. Gob stared for a moment, trying to connect the two thoughts in his mind. Tiny, soft, five foot two inch tall Emilio going up against a field full of eight foot green musclebound attackers and coming out the other side as anything that didn’t resemble a finely ground meat paste. It seemed impossible. He shrugged. “Surprised they let you in even though you aren’t a ghoul.”

“It was pretty clear that I wasn’t Brotherhood so Willow didn’t mind letting me through. Everyone was a lot friendlier than I expected them to be.”

Gob raised an eyebrow at him, “Really? What did you expect?”

Emi shrugged and took another swig from the wine bottle in front of him, “I don’t know I guess. But a lot of them seemed really happy to see someone new. I got a free haircut from Snowflake.”

“I noticed. Looks nice.” The soft lavender coif that had been slowly getting rattier and dirtier with each passing week in the wasteland was now trimmed up, slicked back, and recolored to a more uniform shade of dark purple that hid the kid’s dark brown roots.

“Thanks, I think it looks pretty slick,” Emilio tossed his head and smoothed down one side with his fingers, throwing a wink towards the bartender. Gob snorted.

“So, what else did you do besides demand free goods and services from hardworking ghouls?”

“Got some really neat lessons from Doc Barrows, actually. Learned some useful stuff.”

Gob looked at him inquisitively. “You planning on going into ghoul healthcare or something?”

“Can’t be a real doctor unless you know how to treat all potential patients.” Gob decided that made a fair amount of sense. Still, it was more than a little unusual for a smoothskin to be interested in helping ghoul patients. He wasn’t sure what to make of this interest. “She misses you, but she said she’s glad you’re safe.”

It took Gob a moment to register the change of subject. “You mean Carol?”

Emilio nodded, his brow was creased and he stared at the wine bottle in his hand as if in deep thought. “Are you… Are you ok? Here, I mean. She said you shouldn’t try to come back, she said it’s too dangerous but…” He looked up and locked eyes with the ghoul. When he spoke again his voice was lowered as if someone might be overhear. “Do you need help?”

Gob wasn’t sure what the vaultie was implying. Help with what? His indentured servitude? Getting back to Underworld? Maybe both? And just what help was he intending to give? There was an edge to his voice that made whatever it was seem more dangerous than just paying off his debts. He probably meant to help Gob escape. Gob glanced around for some sign of Moriarty, but the man was busy talking with a caravan trader on the other side of the building.

He shook his head, “Listen Emilio, I know you mean well, but going back to Underworld isn’t really an option for me. Some things are just more trouble than they’re worth.”

“But-”

“Kid, if you really care about my wellbeing, drop it, ok?” he nodded towards the table Moriarty was sitting at. “I don’t need to give him any more reasons, you get me?”

Emilio clenched his jaw and nodded. A moment later the seriousness all seemed to fade away as he dropped the subject.

“So, what can you tell me about the big mysterious bodyguard in the Ninth Circle?”

[...]

Every once in awhile, when business was slow and Moriarty had gone to bed, Gob and Nova would stand out on the walkway in front of the saloon, leaning against the railing and enjoying a moment of nothing to do. The moon and stars shone through the haze of summer humidity. The yellow strings of lights above the town flickered and buzzed, small insects whirling around them in patterns Gob couldn’t quite follow but which were soothing to watch all the same. The metal structures of the town reflected the soft glow between patches of rust. He could hear the clanking of old pipes and the steady creak of building supports and the low hum and purr of generators. 

You could almost convince yourself it was beautiful if you wanted. Gob didn’t want that. Megaton was not a beautiful part of Gob’s life. He supposed there probably wasn’t any part of his life that could be considered ‘beautiful’ anymore given the state of the world and the state of his body, but he especially did not consider Megaton beautiful. Any beauty the ramshackle town might have had was overshadowed by the ache in his bones, the emptiness in his stomach, and the knowledge that after only a few short hours of rest he would have to get back up and subject himself to the cruelty of whoever decided to walk through the saloon doors. But that was the future. In this moment he was comfortable, which was the most he would allow these moments in Megaton to be. The best possible option for him in this awful town in this awful world was this tiny oasis of rest on a rusted balcony with a good friend.

Nova smoked the last half of a neatly rolled cigarette, another small occasional comfort. Her foot tapped along with the beat of a song from the radio that drifted out through someone’s open window.

“He’s totally into you,” she said between drags, “Figures. Kid seemed a little too normal for someone who’s survived this long in the wastes.”

Gob took a moment to think over Nova’s words and realized he had no idea what she meant. “What?”

“The vaultie,” she explained, “You said he wants to help you get out of Megaton, right?”

“I think so.”

She smiled with a shake of her head. “He wants you to swoon into his arms and then bend him over the nearest table.” Gob choked on his own unexpected laugh. Nova smiled at him as he struggled to catch his breath, “Don’t hurt yourself there, sweetheart, I’m just telling it how it is.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Gob coughed. He could feel his face heating up and the skin on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. Nova wouldn’t be able to see him blushing in this lighting but she knew him well enough that it didn’t matter.

“Nah, I’ve known for a while, but I didn’t realize it was that serious. He really offered to take you back there?”

“Not in so many words,” Gob admitted, “Just asked if I needed help.”

“Yeah, that seems vague enough,” she hummed.

Gob eyed her, leaning wearily on the balcony railing. “You knew?”

Nova chuckled and nodded. “Thought he was trying to set up a three-way at first. He kept asking if you and I had ever worked together, you know?” Gob didn’t answer. He knew what she meant. He was also pretty sure he knew what answer she’d given Emi. The short of it was “no” and the longer version was... not something Gob liked to dwell on. Nova wasn’t unkind, but she didn’t try too hard to hide her opinions unless you could pay her to. “He was really persistent, asked every time he stopped by to visit. Figured he wanted to watch it happen, so I told him that was absolutely not an option, at least not on his pay grade. He got all embarrassed and said that wasn’t what he meant at all. Wouldn’t explain anything else, but after that it was kind of obvious.”

Gob wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like Nova to mess with him like this and everything he knew about her said she was telling the truth but it just didn't seem quite possible. “Doesn't seem obvious to me.” He wouldn't outright call her a liar, but then again he wouldn't have called Moriarty a cheap bastard to his face and that was definitely the truth.

Nova must have picked up on the subtext. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? You're saying you don't notice him staring at you with puppy dog eyes, spending all his caps on an excuse to talk what’s left of your ears off?”

Gob shrugged. “I gave him a discount.”

She snorted, “Yeah, I know. You’re just as bad.” She took a drag of her cigarette. Gob watched the clouds of smoke billowing from her nose. “You want my advice? Take advantage of whatever weird ghoul fetish he’s got going on. He’s never gonna be able to pay up in the way he’s promising but you can still get something out of it. And you might as well have some fun.”

Gob wasn’t sure that what Nova was implying sounded like a lot of fun. “He’s a little young, isn’t he?”

“He’s 19,” she said. “Way older than I was when I started working.”

He flinched. “So, what? This is a professional opinion you’re giving me?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “You know how many times Jericho’s promised to save me from this life? Hell of a lot more times than he’s ever actually delivered.” She made a small gesture at her obvious situation. Gob felt his jaw clench at the thought but said nothing. There wasn't much that he could do about her situation when he couldn't even fix his own. They survived anyways. 

Nova sighed and reached over to lay her hand on his shoulder. “Hey now, don't get grumpy about all that.”

“I'm not grumpy,” he muttered.

“You are grumpy, you're being grumpy right now.”

“I'm not grumpy I'm pissed off.”

Nova laughed and it sounded so genuine Gob found himself smiling. “Is this pissed off? Really?”

Why did her laugh always set off butterflies in his heart? “Yeah, you just wait, Nova. Someday I'll really snap and the next rowdy customer that even looks at me wrong is gonna get thrown through the goddamn door.”

The yellow lamplight glinted off her smirk as she raised the nub of a cigarette back to her lips. “Alright, well I'll believe that when I see it, honey.”

[...]

Gob definitely did not want to imagine what it might feel like to be caught in a set of torn yellowed sheets pressed up against Nova and Emilio. Thoughts like that just made it harder to do his job. He’d actually managed to get his crush on Nova under control. He’d thought he could handle any of her offhand comments about her line of work. Bringing Emi into the mix had thrown everything out of balance.

“He wants you to swoon into his arms and then bend him over the nearest table”

Gob had to admit that wasn’t a bad image. It was maybe a bit silly at first thought. “Swoon” had such an association with cheesy pulp romance set in old timey eras and while Emilio was definitely strong enough to support Gob’s weight the height difference would make the display a bit hilarious. But when Gob imagined being held like that, safe and secure and so utterly cherished, he felt his heartbeat race and his face flush. It was silly, but it was such a sweet kind of silly.

He wanted that sweet silliness more than anything and honestly he might have been able to handle it if it was just that. But it wasn’t just that because that innocent little snapshot always led to the second half of Nova’s assumptions. Gob wasn’t entirely sure he was interested in bending Emilio over a table and… well there were a lot of options for where to go from there and Gob wasn’t sure he was capable of following through on a single one of them. Still, his mind would send him bright flashes of imagined heat and friction and bodies pressed together tightly. That was more than enough to throw him off, face flushing as his slow ghoul circulation pumped away inconvenient and embarrassing.

He worked harder, keeping himself busy and distracted, avoiding Nova’s teasing smirks when she caught him blushing. He never managed to avoid them completely and it always made things worse. She’d thought Emi had been trying to set up a three way and that thought was… overwhelming in that same sort of vague wet and warm way that was not particularly helpful when he was trying to concentrate on literally anything else. He didn’t even know what to do during a threesome (if he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what all he was supposed to do when there was just one other person involved) but he guessed that Nova probably did and thinking that didn’t really help his situation. Of course she would know what she was doing and between her gently teasing guidance and Emi’s wide eyed eagerness…

Except no, that wasn’t how it would work because Nova herself had said she wasn’t interested and that was fine, that was good for her to know her limits. It stung but what the hell would he even do in that situation? He didn’t know. Stupid to think that it would be anything except awkward and uncomfortable, really. His face and neck prickled with embarrassment as he continued on with his work and it was just as well that none of the regular customers gave enough of a shit to notice the change. 

It was just a fantasy. Didn’t have to be realistic.

[...]

How the hell did this kid survive out there in the wastes?

Every time Emilio left Megaton Gob went through the process of accepting he would likely never see that purple haired little sunbeam alive again. He didn’t seem to have the skills of an accomplished survivalist. Aside from general first aid, he was mostly interested in books and science and while field research could be tough work, Emilio didn’t exactly cut an impressive figure.

It wasn’t completely unthinkable for someone less threatening to survive out in the wastes, there was as much need for crafters and scavengers and doctors as there was for hired guns. Stealth and a silver tongue could definitely get you places in the capital. Still, even the smoothest of talkers had to have a weapon and know how to use it once it came down to a physical confrontation and it always eventually came down to a physical confrontation.

Gob wondered if maybe his experience in the wasteland was different from the norm. Maybe he’d just had a bit too much bad luck when he ran into the raiders and slavers. His month long snapshot of the capital wasteland was so filled with aggression maybe he was biased. He wasn’t sure how much he believed that theory. Under any real scrutiny it completely fell apart as customers always seemed to have countless horror stories about their times wandering alone. Even if his views were skewed, it was only a matter of time before Emilio’s apparent lucky streak ran out and he was forced to go head to head with someone. Gob didn’t like thinking about what that would mean for his soft tiny friend.

[...]

“So I'm running out of there as fast as my legs will carry me, sliding around corners and just praying that no mirelurks jump out from the hallways and block me in, cause if that happens then I'm definitely screwed, and I realize that this really isn't normal behavior. Not the mirelurk behavior, I mean, we know they're very territorial especially when a nest with eggs is concerned. But my behavior? Charging into a building full of mirelurks with no guns and no back up? Who fucking does that?!” Emilio tipped back, tossing down another shot of whiskey. He let out a small groan of approval for the drink and slid the glass back across the counter for Gob to refill. “Idiots, Gob. Idiots and scientists.” He counted out a few bottle caps to pay for the new drink and grinned. “Really though, what are scientists if not idiots with purpose?”

Gob was running on stunned autopilot as his friend related his harrowing story. The caps kept coming and so would the drinks and so on and so forth until one side ran out. He could do it almost as easy as breathing by now. Easier maybe, he’d almost stopped breathing a few times during Emilio’s retelling. “That’s… geez, drunkie do you have a death wish or something?” He meant it to be a joke but his stomach was still tied up in knots and he didn’t think it sounded as unconcerned as it should have. Emilio didn’t seem to notice.

“Shit, maybe,” he laughed, downing half his drink in one go, “With all the shit I’ve been doing I never really stopped to think about the fact that I should probably be dead right now.” Gob could agree with that. How long had it been since the kid had first stopped in? Months, maybe almost a year. He was leaner by a little, dirtier by a lot, and often looked like he might drop dead from exhaustion but he was still around and Gob had no idea what to make of that. “Nah, I’m probably gonna live forever.”

Gob snorted, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me on that.”

Emilio didn’t laugh. Instead he looked thoughtful for a long time, staring at the cloudy glass cup in his hand as he turned it in the dim light of the saloon. Gob’s comment hung in the air like the ever present dust motes and traces of chem smoke. He felt a weight to his words that he hadn’t meant. Gob didn’t know what Emilio was reading into the comment and that made him uneasy. Eventually and without another word, Emilio set the cup back down on the countertop and slid it over along with enough caps for a refill. That was clear enough in meaning at least. Gob took the caps and poured out more whiskey. Had it really only been about a year? The vaultie sure had learned to hold his drink in that time.

“Are you…?”

The question had been so soft and immediately trailed off into nothing. Gob thought he might have imagined it, but something about the look on Emilio’s face told him otherwise. The other shoe dropped and Gob thought he had an idea what the vaultie had been about to bring up. He glanced around but couldn’t find Moriarty anywhere. Could mean he was out. Could mean he was busy upstairs. Could mean he was in the office, able to hear everything they said. Not that that meant he was definitely paying attention, even if he was there, but still too risky.

Gob shook his head. Not now, drunkie, this isn’t the time for talk like that.

The vaultie’s face screwed up in an expression of upset frustration and Gob worried he was about to argue the point but the moment passed and Emi stared down at his drink looking about as resigned as Gob felt. In the relative silence Gob turned his attention to the radio, dusting off the top, fiddling with the knobs, anything to distract from the awkwardness, really. He half hoped for someone to yell an order across the saloon or come up to the bar to scream at him, just to relieve a bit of the tension.

Something brushed his hand and he jumped and looked down in time to watch Emilio’s soft fingers thread between his own and give a gentle squeeze. His heart began to race and something he wanted to call panic began creeping up through his stomach and spreading out from his spine. Emi’s face was flushed, but he’d been drinking so that didn’t mean- their eyes met and the denial Gob was clinging to so tightly flew out the window and crashed somewhere on the dirty streets a few stories down.

Gob disentangled himself from Emi’s grip as gently as he could and muttered something about having to check inventory before scurrying of to the stockroom at what he hoped looked like a reasonable pace. He stayed in there counting bottles and boxes until his heart rate slowed and he felt like he could breathe easily again.

When he came back out into the bar Emilio was gone and Gob was forced to admit that Nova was probably right.

[...]

Emilio left Megaton and didn’t come back for two months and thirteen days, not that Gob was counting or anything. He was a busy guy, clearly. Three dog talked about him on the radio so often it was impossible to avoid news of the plucky vault kid from 101, an intrepid explorer of the wastes willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who deserved it.

Gob couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and more than a little jealous. He’d fucked up. He hadn’t seized the moment when he’d had the chance and now the moment had passed. Now Emilio was out living life not thinking about him and he wouldn’t come back to Megaton again. Whatever temporary happiness he might have been able to have was out of his reach now.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Business ran as usual. The people in Megaton treated him the same with passive disinterest to occasional hostility. He worked, he ate, he slept, life went on.

Eventually he knew he would hear of the softie’s death on the radio. Or maybe somehow the kid would die out of view of ThreeDog’s mysterious sources and the radio dj would wonder at his disappearance until there was no possible hope of him turning up alive again.

Even still, Gob kept an eye on the door and his heart would always skip at the sound of the old hinges. He didn’t know how to stop himself.

[...]

“I’ve never broken up a bar fight before,” Gob admitted, “Sheriff Lucas keeps a pretty tight lock on trouble makers so we don’t get too many rowdy customers.” Emi made a small thoughtful sound in response. “Honestly I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t really want to find out how breaking up a fight works,” he said, “Do you just step in and start throwing punches? Sounds like a real easy way to get a mob to gang up on you. I wouldn’t stick my neck out like that to save a couple of customers from a bad decision.”

“You wouldn’t?” Emilio asked, a teasing smile peeking up over the rim of his glass, “So you’re saying there’s no way you’d ever intervene in a bar fight?” 

Gob grinned back and leaned against the counter. The bar was empty, he was about to close up soon and Emilio Stroud-Fontana, hero of the wasteland, was sitting on his usual bar stool again smiling at him like he’d missed him. “Well…” he posed with his hand on his chin in a pantomime of deep thought and important considerations. “I guess I might if it looked like they were gonna break some chairs and tables. But customers? Nah they can break each other all they want, I’m staying right back here.” He tapped the countertop for emphasis.

Emilio gasped in mock offense, “What, not even me?!”

Gob chuckled, “Yeah, not even you, drunkie,” he said, “don’t get me wrong, I like you a lot more than any other piece of shit boozehound around here, but a customer’s still a customer and a customer’s still a goddamn pain in the ass.” It was a lie of course, but the vaultie didn’t need to know that. Gob was certain that if Emi ever picked a fight in Moriarty’s saloon he’d jump in right behind the purple haired little greaser, but if he told him that then the whole situation was sure to become a self fulfilling prophecy.

Emilio muffled his snorts of laughter with his hands and again Gob felt so incredibly happy to see him again he wasn’t sure what to do. “It’s good to see your face again, Emi. You were gone way too long if you ask me.”

The tips of his ears lit up bright red and Emilio looked like he couldn’t decided if he was shocked or sheepish. “I got distracted,” he explained, examining his hands as if there was some sort of script written there that would feed him exactly the right words. “There’s a lot going on out there, Gob. I keep looking for my dad but the closer I think I get to him the more excuses I make. It feels like I’m so close to finding him but I can’t bring myself to follow any of the promising leads. Instead I just grab onto whatever impossible sob story crosses my path and I pretend I’m doing it out of the goodness of my own heart but,” his voice cracked. “I don’t know why. I don't think… I don’t think I’ve got the right reasons.” Gob didn’t know what to say. Outside, the wasteland winds rattled the battlements of Megaton and whistled over arid scrubland and piles of rubble. The ruins of a civilization that by now was only able to take good and beautiful things and rip them to pieces. The kid was more broken than Gob had thought. Of course he was. Emilio stared with unfocused eyes at the countertop.

Gob clenched his teeth and considered his options. He wasn’t a particularly moving public speaker or anything, but he had to try something.

“So what?” He huffed. Emilio looked up at him, clearly startled, so Gob repeated himself. “So what? Who cares if you’ve got the wrong reasons for doing good? You’re still doing good, aren’t you? You’re still doing more than most people to make the world a better place.” Gob gestured toward the radio. “I hear what you’ve been up to, vaultie, everything Threedog says and I’ll tell you what, it’s incredible. And if that’s what you’re doing with the wrong intentions then holy shit maybe more people need to have your kind of wrong intentions.”

Emilio looked more confused than Gob had ever seen him before. That wasn’t exactly the reaction Gob had been hoping for, but confusion was definitely better than the strange combination of guilt and sadness that he’d had before. He reached down to pick up Emilio’s half empty glass when the vaultie leant forward and caught his lips in a soft kiss.

[...]

The moments Gob stole to be with Emi felt vague and dreamlike. He found himself focusing with all his might on the imperfect details just to convince himself that this was real and actually happening. The uneven spring in Emilio’s mattress prodding into Gob’s back stood out against the soft warmth of the vault dweller on top of him. He’d run his fingers across the rough rusted spots on the walls as Emi kissed him. The creak and groan of wind rattling the corrugated tin roof mixed with the sounds of Emilio’s moaning, impossibly real and impossibly Gob’s responsibility.

They made love in Emilio’s house, an enormous luxury in the wastelands that he would have thought was shabby and sad two hundred years ago. Now he couldn’t believe that he had anywhere bigger than a store closet floor to sleep, couldn’t believe that he was here with someone who wanted him so badly. He couldn’t believe the lovesick looks and the dreamy doe eyes Emilio always had turned on him. He couldn’t believe how slick and hot he could be inside. He couldn’t believe that he was good enough to know how this hero felt so intimately and what his face twisted into when he came.

Gob traced his fingers across the lines on Emilio’s body. Somehow it always felt as if the scars were part of an infection, spreading from Gob’s skin to Emilio’s through contact and he’d want to stop but he could never resist continuing. He matched them each to stories to convince himself he wasn’t the one ruining this masterpiece. Mirelurk scratches, knife wounds, dog bites, even the light jagged lines of stretch marks and the curves under his chest from Dr. Barrows, Gob catalogued them all and filed them away to remember so he would always recognize when there was something new. It was just another worry on top of a stack of them, but that was alright. Worries reminded him that this was actually real.

[...]

“Gob, do you love me?”

“Do you think I don’t?”

“Humor me, I’m sensitive.”

“...yes, I love you, drunkie.”

“I’m not drunk right now, you can’t call me that when im not drunk.”

“I think I can call you what I like, but ok sweetheart.”

“Gob,”

“Yes doll face?”

“Oh geez! Dollface? Didn’t I just say I’m being sensitive right now?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what is it?”

“Do you trust me?”

“...”

“Well? Do you?”

“... yeah, Emilio. I do.”

[...]

Really, he should have known it was too good to last.

“Am I paying you to stand around and drip on the tables?”

Gob flinched at the acid tone of Moriarty’s voice and instinctively busied himself with his head down and a quiet “No sir, sorry sir,” thrown in for good measure. As far as abuse went, it wasn’t the worst he’d heard from the man and at least Colin hadn’t followed up with any physical violence yet.

Gob glanced up out of the corner of his eye at Emilio. He’d heard a soft disgruntled sigh that he was right to assume had come from the vaultie. Emilio was not pleased. He had a way of setting his jaw when he was angry or upset that might have looked severe on any other man. In Emilio’s case it squished out his cheeks in a way that made him look like a particularly displeased cherub. Gob also might have called it chipmunk-like if there had been anyone else nearby who remembered what a chipmunk even was. It was cute, though, almost enough to make Gob want to smile. What a sweet face.

The sweet face downed what was left in the cup in front of him and slipped off his stool without so much as a word. That wasn’t particularly unusual. Emilio wasn’t exactly fond of Moriarty and usually left when the man was being unkind. His hands were stuffed into the old leather jacket he wore over his armour, it looked like he was heading out. Gob nodded a goodbye and turned to get the broom. The busier he looked the safer he usually was and he was planning to take advantage of that when-

CRACK! Something hard hit the counter. 

Gob turned. There was blood on the table surface now, drips and spatters of dark red and flecks of brighter stuff. Moriarty was slumped over, face hidden by the old stained wood. Jericho yelled. Chairs were pushed back, tipped over. Gob noticed the shocked surprise on everyone’s faces as they stood frozen for what felt like an eternity.

Emilio threw Moriarty back against the wall. Another crack. Gob heard his own voice in the confusion but he didn’t know what he was saying. Emilio's knuckles sank into Moriarty’s stomach and came back red. The look of fury that had twisted his features was hardened in place. He got off three hits in the soft meat of Moriarty’s middle before anyone else joined the fight.

Billy Creel grabbed Emi’s shoulders and pulled him back. Another crack and Billy was covering his face. Blood poured out between his fingers. The smell of it was in the air now and Gob could feel his stomach churning.

Emilio was screaming, everyone was screaming but they must have all stopped speaking english at the same time because Gob couldn’t understand a single word. Underneath the voices he could hear sick wet thuds, broken crunches, soft gurgling. What the hell was going on? Jericho and Billy grabbed Emilio again but the kid was strong. He was something dangerous, wound tight and packed small. Time stretched out and Emilio didn’t budge.

Gob couldn’t move. Moriarty had stopped struggling. He twitched and twitched again. It was weaker each time.

Emilio stopped fighting the attempts to drag him off. He stood up, got decked in the face, and seemed to realize just how much trouble he was in. He ran. The door slammed. The bar patrons chased him out.

Gob didn’t.

Moriarty wasn’t moving.

Gob gripped the broom handle for support, staring at the blood and teeth on the floor. Something inside him struggled to make sense of what had happened while some other part sang that there was nothing else more sensible. How was this even possible? Sweet soft Emilio with his caring and delicate touch, his precise surgeon’s hands, how could he do something like this? Of course the kid was a fucking monster. Hadn’t he been out in the wasteland all this time killing raiders and fending off supermutants and dismantling mirelurks with his bare hands? Wasn’t that what he was famous for now? What the radio stories celebrated him for? Killing other monsters who were just as hard to kill. 

Gob didn’t bother going over to check for Moriarty’s pulse. He knew what a corpse looked like. A real corpse too, not the kind that would run around and fetch you your drinks and flinch at every raised hand and harsh word.

With shaking hands, Gob fumbled for a bottle, pulled the cork and took a swig of watered down whiskey. No, that didn’t help. He just felt even more nauseous and wanted to throw up. He took another swig.

He had been so kind. Gob had been worried about him.

The shouting outside shifted tone and through the echoes it became clear that the Hero of the Wasteland had somehow managed to get out the gates of Megaton. Gob wondered if he’d hurt anyone else on his way out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Nothing soft survived in the wasteland.

[...]

“So what do we do now?”

It didn’t sound like a question when Nova said it. Somehow her voice and hands weren’t shaking as she sucked down the second cigarette of the hour. It was an unbelievable luxury, that second cigarette, but with the circumstances the way they were it was necessary. Gob wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, cleaning his dead boss’ teeth and blood off the saloon floor, but he was pretty sure he was feeling the wrong thing. He thought he should feel more triumphant than he did. He thought maybe he should feel some sense of satisfaction. Wasteland justice? Maybe that would come later. Now he just felt tired.

“Gob,” Nova’s voice brought him back to the moment and kept him there, “this is serious. We’re down our boss and we need to move quickly before someone else does. Can I count on you to be with me?” Gob nodded but he wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying. “There’s no one else to take over this business, Gob. Everything Moriarty had could be ours now if we want it, all of his things, all of his business. That’s what we’re owed, but I can’t do it all by myself.”

His head was still foggy but he thought he understood. “All of his business. You mean the drugs and the extortion too, don’t you?” Nova set her jaw, her face was grim and that was as much of an answer as any words could have been. “Are you serious right now? Is that what you want to be doing?”

“No,” she admitted quietly, “I don’t. I just thought we should consider it and now we’ve considered it. It’s off the table.” She sighed and a bit of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. “So what’s the next step? Are we keeping the bar? The rooms? Do you want to run this place with me or not, Gob? Because I need an answer.”

Gob looked into Nova’s face. They’d known eachother for years now. Gob thought he knew her, thought he knew what she was like and what she valued. Nova stared back at him with tired eyes. He knew her. He trusted her. “I know the traders Moriarty met with and I know basically what they were charging him for everything. I don’t think they’d agree to trade with me, but they might be fine meeting up with you. I can keep the bar running like it always has and I can probably figure out the book keeping. If you can take over all the work unfit for a ghoul then I think we have a good chance of staying afloat.”

Nova took a long drag of her cigarette. As she breathed out the long plume of smoke her body seemed to sag in relief. “If you think we’ll make it, then I believe you, honey.” She flicked ash into the empty cup she carried. “Gob the eternal pessimist thinks we’ll make it.” She eyed her friend thoughtfully then nudged him with a foot. “Hey, are you alright?”

Gob wasn’t sure he could answer that question. The man he loved had just attacked the man he hated and beaten him to death right in front of his eyes. He’d thought he was beyond shocking and that the wasteland had already done everything it could do to him. He’d thought that he was used to violence. He’d thought that Emilio was…

What had he thought about Emilio? Had he really ever believed that he was this soft, delicate thing to be cherished? If he was as good and kind as Gob had thought he was would he have ever lasted in the wastes? No. No he wouldn’t have and somewhere deep down inside him Gob had known that. He’d known Emilio was a killer. He couldn’t have been anything else. But how could Gob fit the image of the tender young man who kissed him so softly and the raging mercenary with battered bloody knuckles into the same body and person? He didn’t know if he could.

He did know that he was terrified of the young man with blood and spikes on his knuckles and death in his eyes. Gob knew he would never trust that man, couldn’t believe he ever had.

Nova placed her hand on his shoulder and Gob could feel a slight tremor running through her. She was holding it together but she’d seen just as much and she was also shaken. Gob placed his scarred hand over her smooth one and squeezed gently.

“We’re going to be fine.”

[...] 

It was months before Gob saw Emilio again.

Megaton hadn’t forgotten what he’d done easily, but this was the wasteland and morals remained flexible. Caps and skills could be enough to forgive any number of crimes.

At least he had the decency to look sheepish as he came up to the counter and ordered a drink. “Noticed the new sign outside,” he said with a grin, “how’s that going for you?”

Gob didn’t make eye contact. “It’s going just fine.” He turned back to inventory, trying to ignore the mass of conflicted emotions roiling around inside of him.

When he next spoke, Emilio sounded a little dejected. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long, I had to wait until the heat died down, you know?” Gob didn’t know how to answer that. Yes he understood that Emilio couldn’t come right back into town after murdering someone in cold blood in broad daylight. “I’m glad you’ve got the place now. I thought maybe you might go back to Underworld or something but you never showed up. I was worried.”

Gob set down the bottle he was inspecting and turned to Emilio. “This was what you meant by ‘helping’ me all along, wasn’t it?” He was surprised that his voice was so even, still he noticed a small flinch from Emi. He’d suspected this for a while, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. “When you offered to help me you didn’t mean that you’d raise money to pay back my debts or that you’d talk Moriarty into letting me go or that you’d help me escape. You always meant to kill him, didn’t you? You weren’t just pissed off that day. That wasn’t impulsive anger that went too far. You knew you were going to kill him.” 

Emi’s mouth hung open in a gaping fish-faced confusion. “I-” Emilio began, “I don’t- Are you mad at me for freeing you?”

Gob let out a small sad laugh. “You’re not even sorry you did it, are you?”

“Sorry?!” Emi said, “Am I supposed to be sorry for killing that dirtbag?! Was I supposed to just let him hurt you? He was scum!”

“You weren’t supposed to kill him.”

“Why not?! You’re better off without him and he deserved-”

“Deserved to be beaten to a pulp?” Emilio stood up swiftly, pushing back the chair with a clatter. Gob flinched and let out a reflexive “Don’t hit me.” He felt a little embarrassed about that but fifteen years of habit wasn’t going to go away overnight. He waited for Emilio’s next counterpoint but it never came.

The vaultie had frozen where he stood, looking at Gob with an expression of stunned horror on his face. Strange, this seemed more like the look a vault-fresh newbie would give a talking corpse on first introduction than the look Emilio had actually given him all those months ago. No one in the saloon made a sound. The other patrons had gone silent when the argument began and now no one dared to interrupt or draw attention to themselves.

Gob sighed, “You should probably get out of here, kid.”

Emilio didn’t answer. He stood shocked for a few moments more and then, as if he’d gotten everything he’d come in for, he turned and left. The door creaked on its rusty hinges as it swung behind him.

Gob took a breath to steady himself. He would get through this, whatever this was. He would find some work that needed to get done and he would work until he could forget. He would work until his breathing was steady and even and tears weren’t pricking at the corners of his eyes. He would work until every inch of the saloon glowed under gas light. He would organize and reorganize stock until his arms were too sore to lift a damn thing.

And if he never saw the kid from vault 101 again, well, that wasn’t his responsibility anymore and it never really had been.


End file.
